


someone you maybe might love

by kokirane



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-07-29 03:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokirane/pseuds/kokirane
Summary: When the only way to access his inheritance is to get married, Kouen has to turn to Judal, his right-hand man. Kouen will do anything to protect his family, but falling in love with his new husband makes it just a bit more complicated.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone :) I wrote this for Magi Big Bang 2019 and it's been quite the labor of love, so I hope you enjoy :') Thank you so much to Sarah for all your love and support, couldn't have done this without you!!

The sky seems to split; the rain pours out in sheets. Kouen, as the first drop slides down the bridge of his nose, wonders if this is how Gyokuen killed his father. If she dragged a nail across his face, and smiled, cutting him open as he --

Heart attack. A heart attack, for a perfectly healthy fifty-five year old man? No. No. _ No _ \-- 

No, not after the phone call he’d gotten from Shou. A five million dollar life insurance policy? Taken out a little under a year ago? _ For a perfectly healthy man? _

Though, Kouen reflects, even if she had been there right in front of him when Koutoku died, he still would’ve blamed her. It was in her _ smile, _her eyes that seemed to melt a little too perfectly with her tears. Bambi eyes, Kouha says, but the kind that make you wish Bambi got shot instead. 

And here she is now, dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. 

“Oh,” she says, as if she hadn’t meandered all the way over to him, “Kouen.”

His throat is closed; he manages a nod. 

“You know,” Gyokuen says, “you look so much like your father.” 

She puts a hand on his chest. Kouen starts counting to ten, quicker once she rests her head against him, begins weeping softly. Raising his gaze heavenward, he wonders if his father can see him. If he’ll send down a message: a strike of lighting, or a crack in the Earth to swallow Gyokuen whole. 

“Gyokuen,” Kouen says. “Compose yourself.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” She steps away from him. “You must also be grieving. You and Koutoku were _ so _close. The bond of a son and a father is so important, especially when you’re without a mother? Oh, I don’t know how Koutoku managed before me.”

Kouen’s lips thin into a frown. She’s not -- _ wrong. _ They _ were _ close. Past tense, even before all this.

Faintly, he remembers sitting on his father’s lap and reading picture books with him, and then being balanced against Koutoku’s hip as his father showed him all the world maps he had collected, yellow with age and smelling like sea salt. Kouen had loved them, and even now, Koutoku’s map of China hangs in his office. He never missed his mother when he was young. There was his father, close and warm, and Koumei. 

As he got older, though, he realized how much his father _ did _miss his mother. He would sit with Kouen and help him study, kept handing him peeled lychees, but sometimes, his gaze would become as far away and cloudy as rolling fog. 

“I met her by the river in the spring,” Koutoku would reminisce. “So there were flowers falling in her hair, her reflection. She was the most beautiful woman in the world.” 

There’s a portrait of his mother in his father’s room. That was the only thing Gyokuen couldn’t take from them. When Kouen used to look at it, he only thought that maybe he had his mother’s nose and jawline. _ Mother _ and _ father _was Koutoku both. He doesn’t remember her, or much of China. 

But one can only be so strong for so long, Kouen supposes. Gyokuen entered their lives quietly like a choking vine. Hakutoku didn’t meet her by a river in the spring, but in a bookstore. He liked how her eyes looked over the pages at him. 

So she became their aunt. And then Hakutoku and his sons became embers, leaving only Hakuryuu and Hakuei, and Gyokuen turned to Koutoku in her grief. A widow needs support, after all, but she got more: another husband and the twins, Kougyoku and Kouha. 

So now? What she has is a pattern.

“He _ managed,” _Kouen says through gritted teeth, “perfectly.” 

“I’m sure he did. That’s what I came to talk to you about. As _ distasteful _ as it is, so soon,” Gyokuen sighs, “I suppose we must talk finances. Our -- _ our _, oh, as if he were still here -- our lawyer -- my lawyer, perhaps -- just met with me.” 

Distasteful, but not enough that she couldn’t wait until the funeral was over. 

“I don’t _ suppose,” _Kouen says, “you can’t just get to the point.” 

Taking a moment, Gyokuen sweeps out a hand, before bringing it back to delicately swipe at her tears once more. She purses her lips, sniffs. When she looks back up at him, there’s something unreadable in her expression. 

Gyokuen’s smile is sickly. “Markkio, my lawyer, is here to discuss Koutoku’s will. Your father has left you a generous inheritance, for when you are to turn thirty years of age.”

“Thirty?” Kouen says incredulously. 

“He wanted you to take over as CEO then,” Gyokuen simpers. “But _ that _aspect will be happening quite quickly, won’t it? Do let me know if you need anything.”

“I want to see the will,” Kouen says. “Now.” 

“I’ll send Markkio over.” Gyokuen begins to dab at her eyes again. 

“I’ll meet him at the study,” Kouen says. He strides past her, gritting his teeth. People murmur as he passes them; he sees Koumei out of the corner of his eye, looking like he wants to say something, but he keeps going. Honestly, he can barely think. It’s a miracle that he’s putting one foot in front of the other. 

Entering the house, he can breathe. There’s a vague hint of incense the air, but finally, he’s alone. Everyone is still milling around outside. Nobody’s here to look at him forlornly or to touch him or to push tupperware into his hands. The fridge is already close to bursting.

Passing through the living room, he sees Kougyoku asleep on the couch. Her cheeks have the faint shine of tears. Taking a blanket from the closet, he puts it over her, and sends a text to Koumei. 

_ To: Koumei _

_ Take Kougyoku to her room when you can. Or tell Kouha. _

Slowly, he makes his way to his father’s study. It’s as if he never left it: the books are still close to toppling from their towers, and there’s still flowers in the vase. Kouen runs his fingers over the maps on his father’s wall, and stops before the photo framed in the middle.

There’s Koutoku, one hand on Kouen’s shoulder, the other on Gyokuen’s. The sight of her makes Kouen’s lip curl, but then his gaze turns to Koumei, Kougyoku, and Kouha. The twins were just thirteen then, not totally grown into themselves, but already they had a confident tilt to their chins. Rens through and through. 

Kouen exhales. God, he’s tired. Between planning Koutoku’s funeral, stepping in as Ren Enterprises’ CEO, and trying to actually process that his father is _ gone -- _

Of all things, he finds himself missing his uncle. Hakutoku always had a warm cup of tea and kind words at the ready. 

Or maybe, Kouen reflects, he just misses what things were like before. The thought of _ why can’t someone else take care of this _creeps in, again and again.

But there’s nobody else. 

_ From: Koumei _

_ where r u gyokuens being weird _

_ talking about dad _

_ ok i escaped took kougyoku to her room but she started crying and idk what to tell her _

_ kouhas there w/ her tho so i left but i dont want to see gyokuen again _

_ so _

_ where r u pls dont ditch me with her _

“Kouen,” comes Markkio’s voice. Kouen doesn’t turn, can smell Gyokuen’s perfume. Can feel her stare at the back of his head. 

“We’re here with the will,” Gyokuen says. 

Gaze on his father’s picture, Kouen says, “Read it.” 

Markkio begins, but the more he reads, the more Kouen’s blood begins to rush. This doesn’t sound like his father. 

Everything -- everything is to _ Gyokuen. _

The house. Full control over their savings. That damned life insurance policy. The cars. The ancestral land in China. 

Everything.

“To my son,” Markkio reads, “Kouen Ren, I leave the company.”

_ I’ve known that, _ Kouen thinks bitterly. _ I’ve _ been _ doing that. Since Gyokuen, I’ve been nothing more than a bearer for your legacy. _

“I leave an inheritance,” Markkio continues. “Of ten million dollars for my children, to be accessed once Kouen is thirty. At thirty, I achieved my dream of my own company. I hope this can help him continue that dream, and to care for his siblings in case something happens to Gyokuen Ren and me. In the case that he is to wed, please grant him that money as needed to care for his new family.” 

At that, Kouen speaks. “If I _ wed?” _

“Koutoku was such a romantic,” Gyokuen says, but he can hear the thinness of her smile. She’s displeased. 

Displeased, after getting everything but the company? Unless -- she wants that too? 

_ She has enough from my father _ and _ my uncle, _ Kouen thinks irritably. 

“If you wed,” Markkio confirms. “Your partner would become part of the illustrious Ren family, and thus the inheritance extends to them.” 

“And my father wrote this will himself,” Kouen says flatly. “At fifty-five. With no mention of Koumei, Kouha, or Kougyoku.” 

“Their _ mother _will be caring for them,” Gyokuen says sweetly. “And Koumei has his college fund, and you.”

“Koumei is in his final year, and applying for graduate school.” 

“And there’s money for that.” It shouldn’t be any possible for Gyokuen’s voice to get any sweeter, but it does. Her smile doesn’t move; it’s stuck like a fly in amber. 

“I was witness to your father’s will,” Markkio says. “As was Miss Gyokuen.”

“Wonderful,” Kouen says. “Well. If that’s it, please excuse me.” 

“Oh, Kouen,” Gyokuen says. “Don’t look like that.” 

He can’t breathe again. But if he really thinks about it, hasn’t he been holding his breath for years now? 

* * *

The slam of a door catches Judal’s attention: he sees Kouen stride out of the house, weariness eroding deep into the lines of his face. Somehow, he’s still handsome. Ja’far catches him looking and hums sympathetically. 

“I don’t know how he’s still so composed,” Ja’far says. “Well -- I do know, but it’s admirable.” 

“Yeah,” Judal says, “he’s like that.” He scuffs his feet in the grass, trying not to stare too much. But it’s inevitable: his gaze is always drawn to Kouen anyway, and now? Even more so, now that there’s a frown twisting his lips. Judal wants nothing more than to make it go away. At the very least, isn’t that his job? To consult Kouen? Solve his problems? How fast Judal’s heart is beating shouldn’t matter. He can help. 

Judal bites his lip. “I’m going over.”

“Now?” Ja’far squints. “Doesn’t he look like he wants to be alone?”

“Doesn’t mean he has to be,” Judal says. 

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Sinbad says. “You’ve got nothing to lose.” He nudges him with his shoulder. “This is the one day I’ll say it. It’s good he has you.” 

“Fuck, should I really go?” Judal glances over at Kouen, alone in a corner. Kouen’s looking up at the sky, arms folded firmly across his chest. Judal wonders if he’s going to cry. 

Probably not, knowing Kouen. Not in front of people. 

“If you fuck it up,” Sinbad shrugs, “we’ll drink it all away. But you’re going to be fine.” 

* * *

The sound of leaves giving way to boots makes Kouen look up. There’s a familiar face: Judal. His eyelids are unpainted today, and Kouen almost starts at how different he looks. It’s fitting, though. Judal must’ve gotten a new suit; he doesn’t recognize this one. He’s never seen Judal in a classic design, but here he is. How a man can possess so many different types of beauty is beyond Kouen. Judal pulls off simplicity with as much class as he does the more unique cuts. The suit is a plain black, but on him, it looks cut from the ocean at night, resting under the swath of midnight-sky hair Judal’s carefully braided. Even his bangs are pinned back. But Judal is Judal, so at his ears and fingers wink with spots of gold. 

He’s a sight for sore eyes. Kouen rarely doubts himself, but around Judal, it’s pretty damn impossible. Somehow, his consultant always keeps him laughing, and just seeing him brings a smile to Kouen’s face. 

Judal clears his throat. “Hey, En.”

The way he sounds isn’t as pitying as everyone else has been today, thankfully. He offers Kouen a stick of gum with a wry smile. “You look like you need a smoke, but -- don’t.” 

“It’s Gyokuen,” Kouen rolls his eyes, accepts the gift. “My father isn’t even cremated yet.” 

“And let me guess,” Judal says, “you’re footing the bill for everything.” 

“That part I don’t mind. That was expected,” Kouen shrugs. “It’s just _ her. _That speech? Please.”

“Honestly? I didn’t listen.” Judal grins. “But I heard yours. Your old man would be proud. I mean, he always was. That’s all he’d ever tell me.” 

“Talking behind my back, Judal?” Kouen raises an eyebrow. 

“You know I’d say it to your face.” Judal says, expression pinched in as he tries to recall something. “Whenever we talked, he was always warning me not to fuck shit up for you, or to work harder.”

“And that translates into pride for you?” 

“Yeah.” Judal unfolds his own stick of gum, chews thoughtfully. “It was, like, my son is _ so _ good, and he works _ so _much, that you need to step up, or like, go to Hell.”

“You’re never steered me wrong, Oracle,” Kouen says. He wants to run his hand through Judal’s hair, return his bangs to their usual disarray. 

“I’m the best thing that ever happened to you,” Judal smirks. 

“That you are.” 

Judal preens, but then his expression becomes serious. “I gotta ask. How are you holding up? You need a drink or anything, call me and we’ll go.”

“Sure,” Kouen says. “You just want me to pay for your drinks like I always do.” 

“Not many can afford me,” Judal teases. “But seriously.”

“I’m holding up,” Kouen says. “You don’t need to worry about me, Judal. I — don’t even know if I’ve had time to miss him.”

“Shit,” Judal says. “Look, get Shou to cancel your meetings for a week or something.”

“I don’t need that,” Kouen says. “What sticks is he seemed fine when I last saw him. The last board meeting.”

“So a month ago?” Judal raises an eyebrow. 

“His medical history didn’t reflect anything abnormal either,” Kouen says. “He’s young, Judal.”

“He was,” Judal agrees. “You missing closure or something? I get that.”

“The last thing we talked about — in person — was the company finances. A new hire,” Kouen says. “He put a hand on my shoulder. Asked about the kids. Assumed I was fine as usual. Went to see Gyokuen.” 

“Neither of you knew,” Judal says lowly. 

“We spoke on the phone a week before he died,” Kouen says. “And that was it.” 

“He trusted you,” Judal said. “He was proud of you. He shoulda showed it more, but he did.” 

“It’s fine,” Kouen says. 

Judal lowers his voice. “I can kick Gyokuen’s ass for you.”

“Just because you can--” Kouen says. 

“Doesn’t mean I should, yeah, yeah.” Judal waves a hand. “Why don’t you believe in me?” 

“I do,” Kouen says. “Which is why I’m going to tell you something.”

Judal perks up. “Yeah? What?” 

“Classified information,” Kouen says, and Judal mimes zipping his lips. 

“Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“Gyokuen got everything but an inheritance,” Kouen says. “Which I can access in five years, or once I’m _ married.” _

Judal bursts out laughing. “You’re married to your _ job _, old man, holy shit. Have you even been on a date before?” 

Judal’s laughter attracts a few stares, but Kouen chuckles along. “Fucked up, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Judal says. “Gyokuen barely raised the kids, right? How’s she gonna support them? That bitch hasn’t worked a day in her life.” 

“And yet my father wanted to give her a job at the company.” Kouen rolls his eyes. “That’s what’s worrisome. I don’t trust her. She’ll bankrupt the family in a year at most. Don’t tell the kids.”

“I’ve only ever met Koumei, Hakuei, and Hakuryuu,” Judal shrugs. “It’s not like I’ll go running to them to gossip.”

Kouen gives him a _ look, _and Judal holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Yeah, okay. So you need the inheritance,” Judal says. “Looks like you’re getting married, huh?” 

“You don’t suppose marrying a corporation counts?” Kouen asks dryly. 

“I don’t think so, En.” Judal puts his hands in his pockets, rocks back and forth on his heels. Kouen waits, lets him think over what he’s about to say.

But there’s no way he expects this: 

“If you’re so worried,” Judal bites his lip. “I’ll marry you.” 

“Judal,” Kouen says, “I can’t ask you to do that.” 

Judal steps closer, grabs Kouen’s arm. “Who else can you trust?” His gaze roams over Kouen’s face. Nervousness has given way to a familiar intensity in his eyes. It’s what Kouen first noticed about Judal. Whenever he and Judal are discussing a case, it’s what he first looks for: that resolute spark and that upturned, confident quirk of lips. He’s serious. 

“Look, you’ve said it yourself,” Judal continues. “You need me.”

“As a consultant for the company,” Kouen says dryly. “Not as a husband.”

“I’ll be both,” Judal says. “Think about it. I’m trying to save your ass here.”

“Why don’t you present this case to me,” Kouen says. “Convince me.” 

Judal gasps in exaggerated shock. “You think I can’t?”

Kouen raises an eyebrow in challenge. 

“Get me a pen. I’m getting a napkin. I’ll write it all out.” Judal holds up his hand. “I’ll be back.” 

Off he goes, leaving Kouen to stare back up at the sky. Something’s welling up inside of him, something he can only put a phrase to: _ is this really what my life is becoming? _

_ What would you do, Father? _

Judal fills the napkin with small, cramped script, using Kouen’s back as a table. Kouen wonders what they must look like to other people, but finds himself too tired to care. 

“Done,” Judal says, whipping the napkin in front of Kouen with a flourish. “I think you’ll like it, but look. Listen. Who else knows more about you than I do? Worked by your side for years? Who else have you taught the way you taught me? You can _ trust me, _and we all know that’s a luxury around here. ” 

“But it’s your choice, so,” Judal presses the napkin into Kouen’s hand. “Whatever you decide. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Gazing up at Kouen, he bites his lip again before throwing his arms around him. Kouen nearly needs to take a step back. Against him, Judal seems to fit near perfectly -- and yet, _ close _ doesn’t feel _ close enough. _He bends, lets his head rest against Judal’s. 

“Thank you,” Kouen says. “For everything.” 

“Don’t read that until I go,” Judal says, “Because I’m a shy and delicate maiden, you know. Let me know what you think later, yeah? And we’ll get those drinks.” 

As he watches Judal go, braid swinging, something shifts. 

* * *

When everyone leaves, the Rens pile blankets and pillows in the living room, and settle down. 

“Koumei,” Kouha says, “Can you stay extra?” 

“I want to.” Koumei replies, rolling over to be closer to his brother. “But I don’t think I can. I have to go back tomorrow morning.” 

“Ugh,” Kouha says. “The house is so quiet now.”

Koumei and Kouen exchange a look. _ It’s not like Father was here often, _ Kouen wants to say, but he supposes he _ was, _in a way. He would cut fruit and leave it in the refrigerator. There were photos of him. He took the twins out on the weekends. 

Kouen rubs his temples. He can’t help feeling that maybe he’s being too harsh. Maybe it was only recently that Koutoku became distant, but he can’t _ remember. _Maybe Gyokuen isn’t the only one with a pattern; Koutoku coming in and out as their father makes it all blur together. 

_ You’re so capable, En, _Koutoku would say. What was once something he felt pride for just leaves a bitter taste in his mouth today. 

_ If I’m so capable, then why do I need you? Why do I need someone to throw their life away for me? Did you think of me as incomplete? Did you feel that way after Mother died? _

Kougyoku says, “Maybe we can play some music.”

“Maybe,” Kouen says. 

“Dad used to sing us to sleep, when we were kids,” Koumei says. “Didn’t he?” 

“I can’t sleep either,” Kouha says. “I just want to break something. Or scream. Mom isn’t even here.”

“She has business.” Kougyoku puts her hand in Kouha’s, squeezes. “It’s like she says, right? The world doesn’t stop, so neither can we. We’re strong. We’re going to get through this.”

A hiccup punctuates her words. There are tears pooling in her eyes again, and her chin trembles. She doesn’t want to let them fall. 

“Crying is okay,” Koumei says. “Crying is still strong. Letting yourself feel is important.”

Kouen can feel his brother looking at him. Pointedly, he keeps his gaze fixed elsewhere. The sound of the shower stops, and Hakuryuu emerges to pass through to his room. 

“Have you heard from Mom?” Kougyoku says. He shakes his head, and keeps going. 

“I hope he’s okay,” Kougyoku says softly. 

“I think Mom said something weird to him again,” Kouha says. “She’s always putting her foot in her mouth.”

“It’s a bit more than that, isn’t it?” Kouen says dryly. 

“Ugh,” Kouha says. “Music?”

Kougyoku picks some sort of melancholy pop album; Kouha picks metal. Koumei picks an ambient noise mix, and within minutes of it, they’re all asleep. 


	2. two

He reads Judal’s note in the morning. There’s a crick in his neck, and he rubs it with his free hand as he squints at Judal’s handwriting. 

It’s straightforward and sharp and somehow sweet — the way Judal usually is. When nobody else can, Judal can make Kouen want to laugh in the oddest of times. 

It feels like such a surreal moment in time: on the floor, surrounded by his siblings and the faint waft of incense, reading the closest thing he’ll ever have to a love letter.

Of course it’s not a love letter. It’s a mix between a personal statement and a resume, but crude and informal and honest and sincere. Very Judal. 

When Gyokuen dropped this contingency on him, he didn’t even have time to think about what he’d do before Judal proposed marrying him. Is that something he can let a friend do? And more than a friend, Judal’s an employee. As far as Kouen knows, there’s nothing prohibiting this in their company policies. And it would make both their lives easier. 

He keeps rereading it as he gets dressed, and by the time he’s out the door, the little paper is wrinkled and worn. 

Maybe it can really be this easy. 

* * *

The ring chooses itself. A gold band like the bright jewelry that winks at Judal’s ears, neck, and wrists, and a ruby in the center. The box burns like a tiny sun in his pocket on the way to work, all the way to Judal’s office.

Kouen raps on the door, lifts his hand in a wave. 

Judal looks up (bright-eyed, long-lashed, looking through messy hair that’s still a bit sleep-flattened), and his lips curl into a smile. 

“Hey,” Judal says, sips at a coffee. “What’s up, boss?”

“Marry me,” Kouen says, and Judal spits coffee onto his desk. He’s going to need a new copy of those papers. 

“Really?” 

Kouen considers, and then gets down on one knee. Judal stares. 

“I want to marry you,” Kouen says, and holds out the small, velvet box. 

Judal joins on him on the floor, sits cross-legged. “Wow. Should I start crying?” 

“If it’s what your heart desires,” Kouen says, and opens the box. They’re both sitting on the ground now, unconscious in the way they’re leaning in towards each other. Judal inhales sharply as he takes in the gold band and the ruby set in the middle. 

“Shit, you got a ring and everything?” Judal breathes. 

“Of course,” Kouen says. “And it suits you.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Judal says, voice still hushed. “Let’s see if it actually fits?”

It does. Holding Judal’s hand in his, Kouen admires the way the light glints off the ruby. 

“Did you get red so I think of you?” Judal asks. He pulls his hand, and Kouen’s, closer, so he can inspect the ring. A faint smile is playing on his lips. 

“No,” Kouen says, “but I won’t stop you.” 

“Good,” Judal murmurs, still fixated on the ring. “En?”

“Mm?”

“To sell it,” Judal says, “we need to know each other.”

Kouen raises an eyebrow. “We do.” 

“Like, _ know _each other,” Judal says. “Not just like, what’s my favorite color--” 

“Black on most days, red, purple, or gold on others--” 

“-- _ not just that, _but like, what’s our life together? What kind of wedding? Big house with the picket fence? Our favorite things about each other? What we love and hate about each other? Things like that, beyond friendship.” 

“That still sounds like friendship to me,” Kouen says, and then smiles. “There was a time when you wouldn’t call anyone your friend, wasn’t there?”

Judal rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Don’t get a big head, I’m not calling you a friend here.” 

“You’re calling me your husband,” Kouen teases. “That’s quite the upgrade.” 

“Shut up, old man,” Judal says, but he’s laughing as he reaches for his phone. “Okay, I’ll find some stuff on my phone, so let’s do this. Twenty questions, shotgun marriage style.” 

“Go.” Kouen opens the notes on his phone, poised to write. “I’ll take down the answers.” 

“You go first, then I’ll answer.” Judal checks his phone. “Okay, easy one. How did we meet?” 

“When you fell on me,” Kouen recalls. 

“Fell _ for _you,” Judal corrects. “Because you didn’t have a stupid beard back then.”

“You don’t like my beard?” 

“Moving on,” Judal says loudly. “What’s your ideal first date? Don’t say dinner and a movie. That’s so boring.” 

“Dinner and a movie,” Kouen says immediately. “A _ historical movie.” _

“Only period dramas are acceptable,” Judal says. “Because the outfits. I swear, every straight man literally loses their mind over war movies and it’s, like, why?” 

“Guess that makes me a straight man,” Kouen shrugs. “They’re interesting. Strategical. And dramatic. You like drama.” 

“I like _ fun _drama,” Judal says. 

“I’ve seen you crying over wedding dress shows in your office. How is that _ fun _?” 

“It’s just so beautiful, okay, when the brides finally get their big day,” Judal says defensively. “People need to respect that.”

Kouen nods somberly. “Noted. So your ideal first date -- is it going straight to the wedding?” 

“Does that make us the ideal?” 

“I think we’re far from ideal,” Kouen muses. “But there are worse things than going backwards.” 

“We’re so advanced… that we’re going backwards,” Judal says. “Okay, but seriously, ideal date? Here’s mine: I meet the guy, right? And there’s such an instant connection that we just spend the whole day together. Get something to eat and just walk around and find, like, things we didn’t notice before, and learn about each other.”

“Judal, that’s every rom-com from the early 2000s.”

“And how would you know that if you haven’t seen them?” Judal scowls. “Bitch. It’s cute.” 

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Your face is saying it, old man. I think I see a new wrinkle. But what’s your real ideal date?”

“Not too different,” Kouen muses. “A walk through a park, maybe.” 

“You sure your knees can handle it?”

“Shut up.” 

“Yeah, no.” Judal’s eyes go wide at the next question. “Okay, what was our first date?” 

“It hasn’t happened yet,” Kouen says dryly. “So I don’t know.”

“Clearly, I’m not marrying you for your brain,” Judal mutters. “Let’s just make it the ideal date.” 

Kouen checks the clock. “Why don’t we go now?”

“What?”

“The date,” Kouen gestures up at the clock. “Let’s take a day off for once, and we won’t have to overthink if we just do it.”

Judal’s jaw nearly drops, but just as quickly his expression transforms into a grin. “Fuck yeah, let’s go. And you drive. You have the nicer car.” 

Kouen offers, “You could drive,” and Judal’s eyes go wide. 

“Really?”

Kouen nods. 

“Wow, I love being married,” Judal grins, grabbing the keys out of Kouen’s hands. “I’ve always wanted an Audi.”

“Suddenly it’s yours?” 

“What’s yours is mine,” Judal says sagely. “That’s life, babe.” 

“It’s not yours yet.” Still, Kouen’s tone is fond. 

“Where are we going?” Judal asks as they head out, excitedly twirling the keys around on his finger. “That park nearby?”

“Sure.” 

* * *

They settle on a bench under a web of branches and leaves. Judal claims it’s too hot to walk around, and Kouen’s more than okay with it. Like this, he can look at the sunlight breaking through to dapple Judal’s skin golden. 

“Let’s continue the questions,” Judal says. “First memory?” 

“Is that a couples’ question?” 

Judal shrugs. “It’s there. Wait. _ Favorite _ memory.” 

Kouen purses his lips. It feels like his life is a blur of just _ work. _ “I’ll pass on that. You go first.” 

“Uh, getting out into the airport,” Judal says, “when I went to Rajasthan. The only time feeling small also felt good. I still remember just staring up at the walls and being like, _ oh, I’m here _.”

Kouen nods. “That’s a good feeling.” 

“Favorite food?” Judal asks next. 

Kouen stares, blank. He can’t think of anything. Take-out is a staple at home, but does that really count? 

“No favorite food because you forget to eat?”

“Spicy food,” Kouen decides. “Nothing sweet.” 

“I feel like I should’ve known that,” Judal says thoughtfully. “Company dinners, do you even eat at those?” 

“Just medication,” Kouen groans. “Those dinners are fucking annoying.”

“They’re good for gossip,” Judal says sagely. “Next. What qualities balance us out? You go first.” 

Kouen chews his lip. The first thing that comes to mind is how unselfconscious Judal is. Judal isn’t afraid of _ anyone. _He makes Kouen laugh like nobody else can: there’s nobody as flippant, as dramatic, and genuinely himself as Judal is. He might even define Judal by how his hair is: a force unable to be contained, sparking at the edges. Tangled, soft -- he’s losing his train of thought. Judal’s waiting for an answer. 

“I like that you’re spontaneous,” Kouen says. “You make everything seem like it’ll be okay. You get me out of my head.” 

Judal blinks. “I do?” 

With a wry smile, Kouen says, “Yeah. You do.” 

“And here I was going to say you make me think more,” Judal says. “It sounds stupid, but thoughtful isn’t the word I want either. You’re just -- meticulous? You work so hard and you care so much and sometimes I don’t ever think I’ll care about anything half as much.” 

“You care about other things in your own way, Judal. There’s nothing wrong with being yourself, and anyway, I’m not someone to look up to,” Kouen says. 

“You take care of everybody,” Judal scoffs, “except yourself. And I’m the opposite. That’s our balance.”

Kouen shrugs. “You’re taking care of me right now. Anyway, I have my own question.” 

“Okay, shoot.” 

“Why did you offer to marry me? What made you want to help me?” 

“Why did you say you would hire me?” Judal counters. “Same thing.”

“Not really, and you know why,” Kouen frowns. “Do you just want me to remind you?”

“Yes.” Judal preens.

“I hired you because I knew you had potential, and you needed somewhere to focus it,” Kouen says. “Because you reminded me of myself at a certain age. I knew what you could be, and I knew you wanted it. And if I could give it to you, why not?” 

“And get something in return.”

“And get something in return,” Kouen concedes, reaching out and brushing his fingers against Judal’s cheek. “My infamous Oracle. Are you trying to pay me back? Do you feel obligated?”

“I’m not so altruistic,” Judal says. “Maybe I want a rich husband.”

“You’re the type that _ is _the rich husband, Judal.” Kouen’s amused. “You’re always spoiling Koumei with gifts.”

“He’s adorable,” Judal shrugs. “And college is hard. Gift cards for coffee don’t hurt.” 

“He needs less coffee and more of a structured sleep schedule--”

“And when do _ you _ sleep? In the _ office,” _ Judal counters. “Anyway. What do we have in common? Is shit talking in the break room is a romantic couple activity?” 

“If it isn’t, it should be.” 

“So we have work in common,” Judal rephrases. “And our past trauma, I guess. That’s really something. Habits of yours I should know about?” 

“Habits?” Kouen’s brow furrows. “I can’t think of anything work-related. If it means habits we learn about each other from spending extensive amounts of time together, or moving in together--” 

Judal blanches, and interrupts. “I’ve never stayed over at yours. Your siblings would know that. Isn’t staying over a couple thing?”

“We’ve done overtime together,” Kouen suggests. “Quite the labor of love. And we can just say we stayed at yours when Sinbad wasn’t around, since we were keeping everything under wraps.” 

“We’re such fucking teenagers,” Judal mutters. “But okay. So -- do you steal blankets? Do you sing in the shower? Do you sleep in sweatpants or just pass out in your suit?” 

Kouen hasn’t shared a bed since he was a child, but he supposes he and Koumei had spent some time pulling each other’s hair over blankets. Not that anyone would be able to verify their answers regardless. He shrugs and says, “No, no, and -- suit. Unfortunately.” 

“You definitely sing in the shower,” Judal says suspiciously. 

“I listen to podcasts,” Kouen says. “On the way to work, too.” 

“Oh my god,” Judal says. “That’s worse.”

“_ You _sing,” Kouen says. “You sing even in the office.” 

“If I feel it, I show it,” Judal says airily. “So. Yes, yes, and yes for me. Next question: what do you love about your life, and what would you change?” 

“The laws of this land,” Kouen says tiredly. “So I wouldn’t have to deal with Gyokuen. Other than that-- I love my family. I don’t love the hours I’m working, but that can’t change.”

Now that he thinks about it, he’s not really sure how to feel about his life as something that’s spanning forward, something to look towards. He’s just living day by day. 

If he lets himself imagine it, what would his life look like?

“Okay, so what _ is _your life? In like, a couple sentences.” 

“You go first this time,” Kouen replies. “And answer the other question.” 

“Uh, okay, I was adopted, I ran away from home, I met Sinbad and then you, I stuck out college, I work here, and now I’m engaged.” Judal rattles off. “I would say -- I love the people in my life now, and I love who I am.” 

He lifts his chin in defiance. “I’m done trying to be someone else, you know?” 

With a faint smile, Kouen says, “I know. You’ve really grown up, haven’t you?”

“Don’t get all teary, old man.” Judal points with his phone. “Life story. Action.”

“Born, and waiting to die,” Kouen says dryly. Judal throws his phone at him. Kouen moves and lets it hit the ground. 

“If it’s broken—”

“That’s your own fault and I’m not buying you a new one.” 

“Life story.” Judal snatches back his phone, scowling. It’s unscatched. “Now.” 

“Born, moved here,” Kouen pauses. “Began working at my father’s company after college. Also engaged.” 

“Boring.” Judal gives an exaggerated yawn. “We can’t be that boring, can we? Is this _ adulthood?” _

“You’ve been an adult for years now.”

Judal collapses against Kouen’s shoulder, arm thrown over his face; with their angle, Kouen still catches a glimpse of his smile. 

“Really?” Kouen mutters. 

“Yeah.” Judal sits back up. “Okay, next one. How do you define yourself?” 

“Why are these so existential?” 

“They are _ not,” _Judal says. “You’re being lazy like Koumei, aren’t you? You always complain about him, so don’t be a hypocrite and just answer the question. Like, let’s say you’re on a blind date. What’s the first thing you say when you introduce yourself? ‘Hi, I’m Kouen, and I’m…’?”

“I work at Ren Enterprises,” Kouen says. “I have three younger siblings. I like to read. I’m hearing just how boring I sound.” 

Judal shrugs. “We’ve known each other long enough. We can pass on that. Okay, let me change it up. I’ll try and guess the answers to your questions. So: your life dream? I feel like you need a fucking nap, man.” He bites back a laugh, nudges Kouen with his shoulder. “Am I wrong?”

Kouen bumps back. “You’re not. You never are, my oracle.” 

Judal looks at him, then puts his head on Kouen’s shoulder slowly, as if it’s some sort of test. Judal’s hair kind of tickles, but it’s not too bad. 

“I’m gonna have to meet your family,” Judal sighs. “Tell me about them? Like what do I need to know specifically? Brief me.” 

“Are you going to tell Sinbad?” Kouen realizes with a laugh. 

Judal squints. “I don’t know if this counts. You met Sinbad before you met me.” 

“I haven’t met him as your fiance,” Kouen says. “That’s different. Plan it however you want and let him know.” 

Judal groans. “Uh, okay, how about this. I told him we were dating and he didn’t care, and just made a stupid joke about merging companies if we get married.” 

“That sounds like Sinbad.”

_ That’s because he did say that, _Judal thinks. “Well, c’mon, tell me about your family. I know your dad. He liked me well enough. I know Koumei. Hakuei and her brother, kinda.” 

“Koumei’s applying to graduate programs right now. He wants to get a PhD.”

“Engineering, right?”

“Yeah.” Kouen says. “He’s always tired because he doesn’t sleep enough. He’ll wait until the last minute to do things, but he always does them well. He wasn’t -- close to our father. I think he tried to push Koumei too much. Sometimes I wonder if I do, too, but at the same time --”

“He’s someone who needs that,” Judal says. “Isn’t he? If he didn’t want you looking after him, would he have told you?” 

“He does,” Kouen acqueises. “I’m working on it. He’s working on it. He’s close with Hakuei. I know they call each other sometimes.” 

“Hakuei,” Judal begins slowly. “You’re close to her too. Wouldn’t she want to know if you were in a relationship?”

“She would,” Kouen admits. “I’ll smooth it over with her.” 

“Alright then,” Judal sighs. “Don’t fuck up. So I know Hakuei and Koumei decently. That leaves the twins and Hakuei’s brother, right? That sad lookin’ kid who came to the office once?” 

“He moved in with Hakuei, so he’s happier now,” Kouen says. “He was living with Gyokuen before. He was in the house during the fire, and he was the only one who escaped alive. He told Hakuei that their mother set it.”

“Shit, that’s heavy,” Judal says. “What do you think?”

“I’m thinking he might be right.” 

There’s a pause, somewhat uncomfortable, until Kouen clears his throat. “She was investigated, but they couldn’t find anything tied to her. Anyway. He goes to the same school as Kougyoku and Kouha. He’s quiet. I think we’re similar, but it hasn’t brought us together. But he’s a good kid. Kouha is the loudest one of the family, the popular one, you could say. Either his friends are in our house or he’s at theirs. Kougyoku’s more shy. And Hakuei, you know her. She’s the one who takes the kids on if I can’t. Instead of their parents, you know.” 

“That sucks,” Judal says sympathetically. 

“I don’t know if I’m any better,” Kouen says after a pause. “I don’t know if I’m enough.” 

“I mean,” Judal says. “You’re not their father. You’re not their mother. Can you really hold yourself to that?” 

“I don’t know if it’s because of --” Kouen pauses, frowns. “No. I’m not sure how to say this.”

“Try me,” Judal says. “Can’t be any stupider than some of the shit we’ve heard. Take your time.”

“It’s not _ stupid,” _ Kouen says, “but it’s not important.” 

“How ‘bout this? I’ll judge whatever you say, so just say it.” 

“I’m always looking for connections.” With a roll of his eyes, Kouen bumps Judal’s shoulder, then shifts his gaze. Somewhere far away. “But they seem to fall through. Did it start from the beginning? With my mother, leaving Qingdao after she died? All I remember is lights. I don’t remember her voice. When I do, it’s just from the videos my father would show me.” 

Judal doesn’t laugh. Kouen finds his gaze, and keeps going. “So what is it? Am I looking in the wrong places? Or is it just a simple thing of I can’t _ manage _all of them, and I’m trying to make some grand excuse?” 

“No,” Judal says softly. “I mean, you can probably do better, but no, it makes sense. You remember that summer I went to India to find out about my mom’s side and all that?” 

Kouen nods.

Judal hitches up the cuff of his pants, shows off tiny dark scars. “These stupid bites still haven’t faded. My fault for scratching them. But in a way, it’s all I have. Like, sometimes I pretend this shit’s an anklet or whatever. So yeah, I get it. You need something to hold on to, no matter how small. I didn’t feel anchored until I came back.”

“You didn’t take photos?” Kouen says. “You love those.”

“It didn’t feel like the right moment. I wanted everything to burn in my memory,” Judal explains with a shrug. “And then the trip was over. I do want to go back. Just haven’t had the chance.” 

“So go,” Kouen says. “Take off for our honeymoon.” 

“Oh?” Judal says. “You gonna come with me then? We can go fall in love by a river.” 

“I don’t need to go across the world to fall in love with you,” Kouen says. “But maybe it’s time I go home, too. When all this is over.” 

“For now, home is here, right?” Judal suggests. “Look. You’ve had a lot of on your plate; it’s natural to get burnt out. It’s natural to wonder who you are when everything just keeps racing past you. But you have me.” 

“What would I do without you?” Kouen says, and Judal beams. 

He’s not sure if he should ask, but then he does. “Did you ever go through with looking for your parents?”

Judal smiles, so Kouen can relax. “Yeah, I did. My case worker got me a box of their things. I still remember going through it like it was today or something. It was like seeing a ghost, but also like meeting someone for the first time but realizing you always knew them, like, from a past life.” 

“Can’t say I’ve had that experience,” Kouen replies, though he supposes he and Judal got on quite quickly when they first met. “What was in it?”

“My mom’s sari from her wedding, and my dad’s suit. A photo album. Ja’far and Sin were really excited about the baby pictures.” Judal laughs. “Letters my dad wrote my mom while he was in China and she was in India, about how he couldn’t wait until they could be together again. Letters he wrote her even when they were together, to read on a rainy day. Letters he wrote me when mom was pregnant. It was really nice. Books, a baby blanket. Stuff like that. My mom was tiny, I guess, so I couldn’t fit into the sari’s blouse, so I made it into a pocket square. It’s the red one.” 

“That’s a nice one,” Kouen says. “With the gold?”

“Mhm,” Judal says. “They looked like they loved me. In the pictures.” 

Kouen could say _ of course they loved you, _ but he doesn’t have anything concrete to go off of. He could say _ I can’t imagine anyone not loving you, _but he can. 

“I’m glad,” is all he says, quiet like his words could break Judal’s reverie. They don’t. 

“I’ll show you sometime,” Judal says, gaze still far away. 

“I’d like that.”


	3. three

The ring in his pocket feels like it’s burning through his skin. Judal taps his pen against his teeth, cycles through every mistake he’s ever made and wonders where this one ranks. The way the ring on his hand is glinting isn’t helping things, or all the shit they’ve been pulling with each other in the name of practice. 

He hadn’t really anticipated Kouen _ reciprocating. _ But almost every day, he’s done something to catch Judal off-guard, and the bastard’s living for it. That tiny smirk is so telling, but also _ so _unfairly attractive. 

Just yesterday, Judal reflects, it felt like they had been about to kiss. Like everything this week had been building up to that. First, it had been just hands brushing when they were exchanging files or passing each other, like Kouen was trying to get used to the feeling of Judal’s skin. It felt almost _ shy; _ that had been cute, manageable. Judal had been able to take that and run with it. Escalating the touches had been fine until now. Well -- it’s _ still _fine, but now he just has to wrangle these bullshit feelings surfacing. 

Resting his face in his hands, closing his eyes, he still can’t stop everything from replaying. Brushing hands turned into linking them briefly, and then Kouen would _ squeeze _and Judal would catch the tail-end of Kouen’s smile. Sometimes he gets ink streaked on his fingers; it shouldn’t be, but it’s terribly endearing, and he calls after Kouen to stop working so hard. 

And then yesterday, he had stopped by Kouen’s office to talk to him. The way Kouen looks at him has always been fond, always been enough. Judal can only blame himself for coming closer and closer to Kouen until there was barely an inch between them; that’s how he saw it. The way Kouen looked down at him was _ different _, the way he smiled -- even his voice seemed lower. 

Kouen looked like he wanted him, and it went straight to Judal’s core. 

This is what he gets for being selfish. But honestly, it’s not like he’s a stranger to these feelings. All he has to do is stop getting in his head. Judal gets to live a fantasy while being somewhat decent, and Kouen can get what he wants without ever having to find out. Everyone wins.

A knock on his door startles him; the sight of Kouen sends all of his confidence away. The ring in his pocket, the ring on his hand -- both burn just a bit stronger. 

“Hey,” Kouen says. “Ready to go?” 

Right. He’s meeting the family today. 

That’s why he got this ring; so they can be more convincing. Sure, it’s a plain band of gold, not anything sparkling like what Kouen got him, but it’s all he’s got. 

“Yeah,” Judal says. “Just a minute. Close the door?” 

Curious, Kouen does. He sits on the edge of Judal’s desk and leans down, humming quietly. “Yes?” 

_ Fuck, _ Judal thinks. _ He’s too close again. _

“I got you something.” Judal thankfully manages to get the box out without fumbling too much. The universe can be kind, sometimes. “Here you go.”

He lets Kouen open the box, studies his face. And then Kouen hands him the box, and keeps his hand poised. 

“You want me to put it on?” Judal grins. Kouen just keeps _ looking, _so he takes Kouen’s hand and slips on the ring; it’s a simple gold band, nothing fancy, but Judal thinks it compliments his own ring well. 

“Are you ready for this?” Kouen says. 

“Yeah,” Judal says. “We’re pretty good at this, dont’tcha think? A good team, I mean.”

That wins him a tiny smile. “The ring looks nice.” 

“It does,” Judal says. Kouen settles back onto the corner of the desk; Judal follows so he can settle against him, and is rewarded by an arm coming up around his shoulders. It’s a little frustrating how natural and casual Kouen seems to be at this, when Judal’s just floundering. 

* * *

Once they’re actually at the Ren house, Judal feels panic set in. “Hey, do me a favor and just throw me into the street. In front of a car.” 

“Don’t worry,” Kouen wraps an arm around Judal’s waist, squeezes. “Baby.”

Judal rolls his eyes, but he can barely speak without his breath hitching. “Yeah, sure, _ honey. _Let’s just fucking get this over with.” 

“They’re just kids,” Kouen says. “Nothing to be afraid of.” 

“Kids can be cruel,” Judal mutters. “I was.” 

“And now you’re not,” Kouen says calmly. He presses a kiss to Judal’s temple, and then unlocks the door. 

The house, Judal notes, smells like incense. Kouen puts down his keys, calls quietly, “I’m home.”

The sound carries, and voices chorus back. “Welcome home!”

This is real, this is _ happening — _Judal could throw up. Love is overrated. Kouen’s arm comes back to his waist, which is slightly mollifying. 

Kougyoku is the first to appear, and her lips part in surprise. “Oh, a guest?” 

Her gaze drops to her brother’s arm, then slowly rises up to Judal’s face. Judal waves, tries not to show how hard his heart is beating.

“Oh,” Kougyoku says again. “Hello.”

“Kougyoku,” Kouen says, “this is Judal. He’s a consultant with the company, and my fiancé.” 

“_ Oh,” _Kougyoku squeaks. “How nice to meet you.” 

“Fiancé?” shouts a voice, and Kouha comes skittering out. “Why are we _ just _meeting your fiancé, En?” 

Kouen pulls Judal a little closer, a little tighter. 

“Oh,” says another voice. Judal’s seen this kid before; it’s Kouen’s half-brother and cousin, Hakuryuu. He stays over sometimes. Of course today is one of those times. “I’ve met you. You don’t seem like Kouen’s type.”

“Kouen has a type?” Judal says, surprised, before narrowing his eyes. “And what makes you think I’m not it?” 

“How come you met him first?” Kouha says. “That’s not fair.” 

“I was visiting Hakuei.” 

“Settle down,” Kouen says. Hand on the small of Judal’s back, he maneuvers him to the table. The kids silently follow. 

“A fiancé?” Kouha repeats once they’re seated. There’s hurt clear on his face. “Since when?” 

Judal and Kouen exchange glances. Under the table, their hands find their way to each other, and entwine. 

“Quite recently,” Kouen says. “But Judal has been an important part of my life for years now. I don’t know why it took me so long to realize, but he’s the one I’m going to spend my life with.”

“You’re dense,” Judal mutters, with a bit more feeling than he intended. They sound _ way _too rehearsed. But Kouen laughs, and his siblings turn to him as if he’s grown three heads. 

“How come we haven’t heard about you before?” Kouha says. “Like not even as a boyfriend?” 

Kouha must be the protective one, Judal notes, which is interesting as he’s the youngest brother. Perhaps it’s his way of giving back for all the years of protection he’s gotten? Judal wouldn’t know, but as he thinks about it, he realizes how he’s both one of Sinbad’s harshest critics and one of his loudest defenders. 

“Since we work at the same place,” Judal says, “we kept it pretty quiet.” 

“You think you know a person,” Kouha says dramatically to his sister. He blows his bangs dramatically out of his eyes. “That doesn’t tell me why we didn’t get to know.”

“I wanted to be sure before I brought someone into your life.” Kouen squeezes Judal’s hand under the table. Judal squeezes back. “Judal’s incredible.” 

“Is this about Dad?” Kougyoku ventures. 

A pause. _ Yeah, _ Judal wants to say. _ Just not in the way you think. _

“In a way,” Kouen says. “Loss helps you realize what you have. What you want to hold onto.” 

The kids don’t look convinced. Judal can’t blame them. So he decides to cut in, nudges Kouen and murmurs, “Dinner?” 

Kouen looks just as relieved as Judal expected him to. “Yes. Dinner. Shall we?” 

* * *

Dinner’s -- quiet. 

Judal’s used to drinking himself to death with Sinbad and to Ja’far yelling at the both of them to get off the floor. The three of them are _ hopeless _at cooking, so it’s usually take-out, all of them crowded around the table fighting for who gets what, because taking turns is a concept that goes totally over Sinbad’s head.

The Ren family is polite, but cold, and yeah, he gets it, but that doesn’t stop him from glaring at Kouen, trying to broadcast _ HELP _with his gaze alone. Maybe this is their normal, though, because En seems unaffected. 

Judal shovels noodles into his mouth and screams internally. At least with the way this is going, it’ll be over soon.

_ Soon _doesn’t come soon enough. The kids escape as soon as they can, leaving Judal and Kouen to pile up the dishes in the sink. 

They set up a system: Kouen rinses while Judal arranges the dishes in the dishwasher. The sink fills with soap and creates bubbles with a rainbow sheen, which amuses Judal to no end. 

Kouen starts scrubbing the plate with such force that the soap bubbles are thrown into the air -- and then down they drift, little translucent pearls around him. Judal has to cover his smile, because god -- is he really seeing rainbows right now? Is that what’s really making want to reach out, tuck Kouen’s bangs back? Press him against the wall and kiss him until his knees are so weak he has to slide down to Judal’s height? 

“Hey,” Judal grins, “has anyone told you that you’re cute before?” 

Kouen looks at him, an eyebrow raised. “Me, cute?” 

“You,” Judal says. “You’ve got bubbles in your hair. It’s cute.” 

“So then it’s not really _ me, _” Kouen reasons. 

“They won’t be cute anywhere else,” Judal breathes, right before he smears a line of soap on Kouen’s cheek. Kouen’s eyes widen, and then he’s putting soap in Judal’s hair. 

Judal’s pushing at Kouen’s face when they hear the TV turn off, and footsteps approaching. Wide-eyed, Judal drags Kouen closer, and whispers, “I’m gonna kiss you. Maybe that’ll convince them.” 

Maybe Kouen will chalk up the tremble in his voice to nerves instead of fucking desperation. But he’s wanted to kiss En for _ years, _so — 

And then it happens. Kouen puts a hand against the back of his head, his lips over Judal’s, and Judal stops thinking. He just wants to be _ closer, _ and grips the ends of Kouen’s jacket, pulls him in. It’s not like anything what he thought: it’s not terribly awkward and it isn’t like a firework going off. But it feels _ comfortable, _ like they’re meant to be together like this. Kouen’s hand against him is like a reassuring anchor, a little something whispering that _ this is real. _

This is_ real, _ he thinks again, and almost laughs. Whatever their relationship is and _ isn’t, _Kouen is holding him here, and now, kissing him again and again. Like Judal’s familiar and the one he was waiting for all at the same time. Like he can’t bear to be without him.

And yet they break apart all too soon. Judal drops his forehead against Kouen’s chest to hide his face. Turning onto his cheek, he can hear Kouen’s heartbeat. It doesn’t seem any faster than usual. Judal’s feels like he ran a fucking marathon. He wants to kiss Kouen harder, to get picked up and just feel nothing but him. Skin against skin — 

“Guess it was nobody,” Kouen murmurs. He smooths down the back of Judal’s hair. 

“Well, we got the big damn kiss out of the way,” Judal says. “I’m sure the Academy will be calling anytime with our awards.” 

Kouen chuckles. “Do you have a speech ready?”

“Of course I do. I’m not an amateur.” Still, he needs to bring up something, something to bring him back to why he kissed Kouen. It was for their plan, that’s all. Back to the plan. “But let’s talk about how dinner was awful.”

“And here I thought it went rather well,” Kouen says dryly. “They’ll be okay.” 

“Why don’t you just tell them?” Judal lowers his voice; Kouen has to lean down, face right next to Judal’s to hear. “Maybe they’ll be less upset.” 

“No,” Kouen says. “I’d rather they be upset at me than their mother.” 

“You mean upset with _ me,” _ Judal points out. “Gyokuen’s shitty! Don’t tell me they haven’t noticed.” 

“They have,” Kouen admits. “They try to ignore it.”

“If something’s not good for you, shouldn’t you cut it off?” Judal asks. “That’s what I did. Who cares if she’s their mom?” 

“What she does,” Kouen says, “is when she reappears she’ll spend a decent amount of time with them and spoil them. So they’re torn between her being really fun and her being really distant. It’s not a linear path to cutting her off.” 

“I get that,” Judal sighs. “It’s always easier to see it once you’ve lived it.” 

“Yeah.” Kouen hands Judal another dish, a matching frown on his face. Judal bumps Kouen’s shoulder apologetically. 

“Hey. You’re right, it’ll be fine.” Judal says. “They’ll come around.” 

“And if they don’t?”

“They _ will.” _Judal says. “C’mon. We’ll convince them. We’ll step it up. Chin up, En.” 

Kouen’s mouth twitches, right before he leans down to rest his head on Judal’s. 

“Chin _ up, _ not _ down. _ I’m going to shave your beard in your sleep!” Judal complains. Kouen only presses down; Judal smacks his cheek until he gets off, but Kouen stays close, low, gazing right at Judal -- he’s giving Judal that look again. The one Judal thought he had been imagining, but no, maybe he’s not -- no, he’s _ not, _because Kouen is dipping back down to kiss him again. Soft and slow and sweet, their lips moving together as if they’re meant to be. 

“You heard someone?” Judal breathes when Kouen draws back. There’s a smile on Kouen’s face as he strokes Judal’s cheek and murmurs, “I thought I did.”

Funny. Judal hadn’t heard anything. 

* * *

Judal doesn’t know when he’s supposed to leave, so he just -- doesn’t. He ends up following Kouen to his room, and immediately burrowing under the blankets. Kouen heads to grab them a change of clothes; Judal’s closing his eyes when he hears a buzzing noise. He thinks it might be his, until he sees _ Gyokuen _flashing across the screen. 

“Hey, Kouen,” Judal calls, “What’s Gyokuen’s contact in your phone?”

“Gyokuen. What else would it be?” 

“She just messaged you.” Judal says. “I was hoping it was, you know. Not her. Like maybe you have her saved as Evil Hag or something.” 

“You can change it,” Kouen says, coming over. “What does it say?”

“What’s your passcode?” Judal hands the phone over, and Kouen unlocks it, scans over the text and fuck, it must be bad because his face clouds over like an incoming thunderstorm. 

“What is it?” Judal says, trying to look at the screen. Kouen hands it to him.

_ From: Gyokuen _

_ I’ll be arriving tomorrow to spend time with the family. I miss and love you all. :) _

Judal turns from the bright screen to Kouen’s dark expression. “Be angry. It’s your right. Get it all out.” 

“I’ve been angry,” Kouen says, climbs into the bed next to him. He puts sweatpants and a shirt into Judal’s lap with a sigh. “I’m tired of simmering in it, but I do indulge from time to time. Right now, I’m just tired. ” 

“Oh? How? I want to hear about it.” Judal says. “Indulge me.” 

Kouen frowns. “I’m the one who’s supposed to instruct you.”

Judal bats his eyelashes. “I just think it’ll help. Couples bond over trauma, right?” 

Kouen’s exhale is short, but fond. Judal knows that by now, knows it even more so when Kouen lifts an arm so Judal can huddle close to him, can listen to his heartbeat, the rumble of Kouen’s chest as he speaks. 

“Either he was mourning my mother or mooning over Gyokuen,” Kouen says. “Why not raise your own children? Why leave it to your eldest son? Why make it sound like it’s good, what _ should _ happen if I want him to be proud of me, so I don’t realize until it’s too late? Who I _ am _— is he proud of that? Or who I am when I fit what he needs? I don’t know who I am outside of what people want sometimes. President Ren for the company. Brother En for the kids. But when I’m alone? I’m tired.” 

“I think you’re more than that,” Judal says. “I know you are. Look: you like podcasts and rainy days. You stack three pillows when you sleep. You miss having time to read biographies of world leaders. You _ are _ Ren’s President and your sibling’s brother, but that doesn’t take away what you do with those roles, right? _ You _choose to kick ass at what you do.” 

“We’re made up of so many things,” Kouen says, “that sometimes it blends together into nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Judal says. “You’re everything.” 

“Thank you for thinking that.” 

“I know it,” Judal says. “Right now it’s just you and me. Fuck everything else. Forget what you need to be, and just fuck it. Do what you want.” 

“Stay here tonight,” Kouen murmurs, and it’s all too easy to sink into the bed’s warmth. Into _ Kouen, _who’s pulling him close. 


	4. four

Gyokuen is leaning over him, her face dripping like wax. First, black eyes run like rivers, into a melting, smiling red mouth that drags through the Earth. he’s reaching for him, her fingers curled and clawed and blackened, and oh, they’re melting too, even as they’re joined by another pair of hands -- she’s not alone. His father is with her. He’s smiling too, melting too, and Kouen is small again, helpless, trying to hold onto his brothers and sisters but he only has so many hands, he only has so much strength. 

His siblings break away, run. Kouen opens his mouth to shout but the sound dies in his throat, because there’s a new hand grasping at him. He looks up, and sees Judal. Judal hasn’t changed, is still the same age, but Kouen still feels like he’s one more person to protect. He has to _ move. _But the little that he has fails. He can’t. He can’t even call for help. 

And then he wakes up. Judal is shaking him, frowning. “En? You — you were — was that a shitty dream or what?”

Kouen sits up, slowly. Judal’s hand is on his back. 

“Yeah,” he swallows. “Water—” 

“I’ll go,” Judal says, about to swing out of the bed before Kouen’s hand closes on his wrist. 

_ Don’t. Stay. I’ll go. _He doesn’t know what to say, the words bumping and crashing into each other like a traffic jam -- not going anywhere at all, not really. 

“Come with me,” Judal says softly. They trudge to the kitchen, steps guided by the bright white light of Judal’s phone. 

Judal opens the fridge for the pitcher of water, and for a minute, he’s aglow; for a minute, the moon comes down from the sky and hangs there, a man with a sharp tongue and eyes but god, he’s warm.

Kouen’s gaze drifts to where they had kissed. It had happened quickly, what with Judal saying he had heard someone and suggesting to put on a show. But once it started, Kouen had found himself _ wanting. _

And so he had kissed Judal again. He can spin it any way he wants to: that he really had heard something, or he was just … collecting data on a new theory.

A theory he can’t admit to himself yet. 

“So,” Judal says. He hands over a glass of water, turns on the kitchen lights and sits. “What was that about?” 

“Nothing,” Kouen says automatically. Judal scoffs.

“Okay, define nothing.” 

He drinks instead. Judal waits, eyebrows going higher and higher every second. Kouen buys himself a glass’s worth of time. When the water’s over, Judal’s patience is already long gone, and he’s tapping his foot, arms folded. 

“I don’t know if this’ll work,” Kouen finally says. “What’s the guarantee we get the money? I don’t trust her.” 

“Can’t hurt to try,” Judal shrugs. “We take her to court, get the money if she doesn’t give it. What’s got you freaked out?”

_ Shouldn’t you take this more seriously, Judal? _ Kouen wonders, but at the same time, he’s wondering if maybe, _ maybe, _he’s letting that dream, letting childhood emotion, bleed into his judgement. 

But then he thinks about Gyokuen, and how his family wasted away before his own eyes, and sticks to what he knows. 

“That pattern she has,” Kouen says. “Something always mysteriously going wrong. A fire. A heart attack. What’s next?” 

“We get married and get the money is what’s next,” Judal says firmly. “Courthouse. You. Me. Holy matrimony with a vengeance. Let’s go this weekend.” 

He pauses at the conflicted expression on Kouen’s face. “What, you got a better idea? It’s tacky, sure, but the will doesn’t say anything specific about a big wedding or anything. We just need to be married.”

“I know.” Kouen runs a hand over his face. “I know. I just want to look at every angle. Gyokuen; the family reputation; the family that’s left. My father just died, and I know we’re scrambling but I don’t want anyone else to know.”

He doesn’t know how clearly his tiredness is showing, but just speaking the words -- _ my father just died -- _leaves him with such bone deep exhaustion. Judal purses his lips, but doesn’t address it. 

“So what? You want an actual wedding?” Judal asks. 

Judal doesn’t know if he can survive that. But fuck what he wants or needs because Kouen nods. 

“It would be preferable.” The way Kouen says it, though, sounds like it’s going to be the final option. He’s using his CEO voice, damn it. 

“So what, are we gonna be married forever to keep up appearances too?” Judal’s voice _ cracks. _He needs to stop talking. 

“A year should be satisfactory.” Kouen’s brow creases. “You’re free to do what you want after the wedding, Judal.” 

_ But I want you. I want you for real and I’m so fucking in over my head right now. _

“We’ll sleep on this,” Judal finally says. “I’m not your employee right now. I’m your fiance. We make decisions together.”

Kouen frowns, brow still furrowed like he’s trying to figure out just what changed Judal’s mood. But if he hasn’t realized Judal’s in love with him by now, he never will. 

Judal isn’t sure what he wants anymore. “Let’s sleep,” he says tiredly, “we have work tomorrow.” 

And so back they go. Judal’s climbing under the covers when Kouen opens his arms. 

“What?” 

“Thank you,” Kouen says softly. “For this.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Judal mutters, but he fits so, so neatly into Kouen’s embrace, and then it all fades away. 

The night is warm. They don’t wake again. 

* * *

The morning starts with sunlight leaking through the windows and the shrill ring of Kouen’s phone. Judal puts out a hand and fumbles blindly to turn it off, but ah, that’s a face under his hand. 

Kouen nudges against his palm. “I got it.” 

Vaguely, Judal registers the loss of warmth and Kouen talking quietly on the phone. He slides in and out of sleep until he hears Kouen say, “I’m not coming in for this. I’m taking my siblings to school.” With that, he hangs up. 

“I’ll do it,” Judal calls, still half-asleep. “Just give me five minutes.”

“You’re not going to get up,” Kouen says, amused. “I’ll just take them.” 

“No, I got it.” Judal groans, sitting up. “Do I get a reward?” 

A kiss is placed softly on his cheek. “Your reward is my thankfulness.” 

Judal pulls Kouen back in, kisses his lips gently. “I’m taking this instead, thanks.” 

“Mm,” Kouen says, “Trying to make me late?”

“I don’t _ try,” _ Judal says haughtily. “I _ succeed.” _

A part of him whispers _ so this could go further? _ but he pushes it down. 

“As do I.” Kouen brushes Judal’s bangs out of his eyes. His eyes are already drooping again. “I’ll get you coffee for when you come in.” 

“Two coffees.” Judal says petulantly. “And breakfast.” 

“Done. Take the keys in the top kitchen drawer. And there’s a toothbrush and clothes for you in the bathroom.” Kouen gives one last ruffle to Judal’s hair before he goes. Judal yawns one last time to an empty room, and then he swings out of bed and gets ready.

Judal pulls his hair into a high ponytail, mouth set in a grim line. It’s been _ ages _since he’s had to deal with children, and he’s not even sure if Aladdin and Alibaba count. They probably do. 

Going downstairs, he finds the kids at the table. Shortly, he says, “I’m taking you guys to school today.” 

Kouha wrinkles his nose. _ “Why?” _

“Because your brother can’t,” Judal says, checks his watch. “We’ll leave in ten.” 

“I can get a ride from someone,” Kouha says. Kougyoku nudges him, a frown on her face. Kouha slumps in his seat. “Fine.” 

Judal tries not to pay them much mind, but it seems they’ve all had time to unite and prepare, because once they’re in the car, Kougyoku scoots forward in her seat and starts asking questions. 

“So,” Kougyoku says, “how did you meet? How did you, um, become a couple?” 

Judal glances in the rearview mirror and sees Kouha gagging. But Kougyoku has a shine to her expression, so he does his best to humor her. 

“We met about seven years ago,” Judal says. “I tripped right onto him because I had a broken ankle -- he was working with my roommate, I guess, Sinbad --”

“_ Sinbad _?” she gasps. “Like the CEO of Sindria Corporation? He’s one of the youngest CEOs along with our brother, isn’t he?” 

“Yeah, that idiot,” Judal sighs. “So your brother would be there working on things from time to time, so we got to know each other. I started working at Ren after college, and uh, how we became a couple? It kinda just -- happened. I’m glad it did.” 

“Oh,” Kougyoku says, obviously expecting something a little more romantic. 

“I love your brother, if that’s what you guys are worried about,” Judal says. He tries to think of what else to say, but any more of the truth could teeter into dangerous territory. The night he told Sinbad that he was in love with Kouen, he didn’t shut up for damn near two hours. Judal’s cheeks burn at the memory. Sinbad couldn’t stop laughing at him; one of Sin’s regrets is not being sober enough to record Judal’s ramblings properly -- the video is just Sinbad’s giggling. 

“I’ll take care of him,” is what he settles for. “I’m not going to apologize for trying to do that. I’m not taking him away or anything, and the sooner we all get along, the happier he’ll be.” 

“You’re kind of rude,” Hakuryuu says. 

“Aren’t you afraid I’m some person who isn’t upfront and just using your brother?” Judal challenges. “I can see it on your faces. Those kind of people are what Ja’far and I had to worry about with Sinbad years ago.” 

“You could still be trying to trick us,” Kouha huffs. “By pretending to be honest.” 

“Do you think your big brother’s an idiot?” Judal scoffs. “If anything, just have faith in him and his choices.” 

“We do,” Kougyoku pipes up. “But we still have to protect him. We can’t just sit back and do nothing. We have to try.” 

_ Kouen would probably cry if he heard this, that old man, _Judal thinks fondly. “I can understand that. He’s always thinking about other people over himself, isn’t he?” 

“Yes,” Kougyoku says, looking downcast. Still, Judal can see determination set in her expression. Despite the distance between them that Kouen had worried about, Judal can tell how much she loves her brother. 

“Okay,” Kouha says. “I guess we’ll just see what happens, then.” He folds his arms, and _ pouts. _“I’ll be keeping an eye on you!” 

_ A sixteen-year-old is threatening me, _Judal thinks with amusement. He has to bite back his laughter. “Sure thing, kid.” 

“How do you know when it’s time to get married?” Kougyoku asks. “You’re just a bit older than Mei, and he said he never wants to get married.”

“Entei said that too, once,” Kouha points out. “And now he’s _ engaged.” _

“Can we see the ring?” Kougyoku adds excitedly. 

“At a red light,” Judal says. “And, uh, when you know, you, uh, know? It’s different for everyone.” 

“How did _ you _know?” Kougyoku says excitedly. 

Shit. All Judal can rely on is that they won’t know any better than he does. 

“Okay, so, when your brother proposed to me--”

“He’s the one who proposed?!”

“Yeah, so when he did,” Judal continues, raising his voice slightly, “Saying no just wasn’t even an option that crossed my mind. If Kouen hasn’t told you, which he probably didn’t, I used to live in a foster home. The family I have is distant cousins in another continent, and Sinbad and Ja’far who took me in here. And then Kouen came around, took a chance on me, and it was just the start of everything. When I think of a home, I think of one with him. My life now is because of him, so my future? I want him to be in it. When someone proposes to you, if you can see your life together, and it’s a _ good _life, and you know that you’ll do whatever it takes, and they’ll do the same -- you won’t even think of saying no.” 

He pauses to breathe, flushed from everything he’s just said. “And, uh, here’s your school!” 

Once they’re out, he has to find an empty parking lot and _ scream. _

* * *

Entering his office with a sigh, Judal almost misses the things on his desk and nearly puts his briefcase on top of them. Squinting, he counts once, twice, to make sure he’s not dreaming: two cups of coffee, one plate of breakfast. Kouen’s gotten him three pancakes, one peach, and a croissant. There’s a sticky note on the coffee too; Judal picks up the bright yellow scrap, and nearly chokes on his laugh. There’s a fucking _ smiley face _ drawn on it, under a neatly penned _ for you. _

Judal nearly wants to think that Kouen had someone bring him the food, but that’s his _ handwriting. _That’s his cologne hanging in the air. 

Well, alright. If everything tastes just a little sweeter, Judal’s not complaining. 

* * *

About an hour later, Judal’s still staring at the same place on the files he’s supposed to be reviewing. 

His mind is _ stuck _ on the stupid, crazy rom-com that his life has become. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to focus until he sees Kouen, has a proper conversation with him. There’s a _ lot _ they need to figure out. 

(They kissed! They slept together! They have a wedding to plan! Ugh!) 

He’s on his way to Kouen’s office when the man he’s looking for suddenly comes around the corner, looking at his phone screen with a frown.

“En!” Judal says, uses his folder to tap Kouen’s chest and hold him at bay. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Kouen says, a faint smile curling his lips. “How was your morning?” 

Judal rolls his eyes. “Clearly, I survived. Yours?” 

“I also survived.” Kouen gives an exaggerated bow. “Do you need something?”

“Yeah, to discuss these files.” 

Kouen puts a hand on the small of Judal’s back, starts steering him. Almost immediately, all the words on Judal’s tongue fall away. Everything in the world shrinks down to the point of heat on his back, burning through all the way to his skin. 

Once they’re in the office, Judal perches on the corner of En’s desk, not quite a safe distance away from the man, but hey, whatever. He loosens his tie -- _ Kouen’s tie, _his mind traitorously reminds him -- and clears his throat. 

“So it’s not about the files,” Judal says. “But the wedding. Got any ideas?” 

Ruefully, Kouen swivels around his desktop. On the screen are different wedding venues. At a glance, Judal spies a few hotels, a couple beaches, and a handful of gardens. 

“I think my courthouse idea is pretty good,” Judal manages once he’s fixed his dropped jaw. Thinking about having a wedding with Kouen is going to send him into cardiac arrest. 

“Yeah,” Kouen says. “It is.” 

“Then let’s do it!” Judal coaxes. “Or at least tell me what you’re worried about.” 

Kouen is silent, expression pinched. Finally, he says, “You.” 

“Me?” Judal’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t I convincing enough? Or because I didn’t immediately agree with you—”

“You,” Kouen says, “dying.” 

“Dying,” Judal repeats.

“I can’t just think about myself anymore,” Kouen says. “I got you into this. I need to protect you.”

He reaches out a hand to hold Judal’s loosely. “I couldn’t protect my cousins, my uncle, or my father. I can’t lose you.” 

Judal bites his lip, gazes down at their entwined fingers. He doesn’t know what to _ say. _ He’s been so caught up in his stupid feelings that admittedly, he hasn’t considered the whole angle of Gyokuen’s past family. Even now, Kouen’s hand, his low, warm voice saying shit like _ I need to protect you, I can’t lose you _is nearly winning over all his attention, but Kouen’s face is so pale and drawn that the severity of their situation is starting to sink in. 

“So you think if it’s not public, she can easily knock me off and make it look like an accident,” Judal guesses. 

Kouen gives a wry smile. “I don’t want her to suspect you.”

“But inherently, we’re suspicious,” Judal points out. “Won’t she try and take me out of the picture even if she thinks I’m innocent?”

“If I can cover as many bases as I can,” Kouen sighs, “then maybe we have a chance.”

“Don’t get cold feet now.” Judal squeezes their linked hands. “This isn’t like you. Didn’t we start this because we knew it would work out? Didn’t you think of the risks? So what changed?” 

Kouen glares. “Apologies for caring.”

“Apology accepted,” Judal says, and squeezes Kouen’s hand again. 

* * *

Judal trudges through the door, exhaling. What a day. “I’m home!” 

“Welcome back!” Ja’far calls. “We just got in. We have takeout.”

Judal inhales; The scent of spices hangs pleasantly in the air. “Indian?” 

“Indian,” Ja’far confirms. 

Judal kicks off his shoes and follows Ja’far to their living room, where Sinbad is sprawled in a purple robe and eating out of a styrofoam box. The TV is on, blasting some fantasy show about a kid magician. 

“You didn’t come home last night,” Sinbad says, without looking over. “Do I need to kill Kouen?”

“I literally told you where I was, and I’m back now, so,” Judal rolls his eyes, “No.” 

“You said ‘fuck off, I’m alive’,” Sinbad says pointedly. 

“How _ is _ it going with Kouen?” Ja’far interrupts. “Boundaries in place? Wedding planned? Heart protected?” 

“Does that sound like Judal?” Sinbad scoffs. “Who gives their heart to a man with a beard like that and expects it to work out?” 

“You’re one to talk,” Judal replies, changes the channel to a celebrity bake-off. “Is there chaat?”

“I ate it,” Sinbad says as Ja’far hands it over with a shake of his head. 

“So should we be worried, is what we want to know,” Ja’far says. “If you’ve got it handled, I’ll take your word for it. Sinbad’s just bitter about stocks today, ignore him.” 

“The enemy is doing better than us! The enemy that Judal’s going to marry!” 

“He’s doing better because of _ me, _” Judal says. “So know that.”

“I still think you’d like working at Sindria better,” Sinbad says, pointing at Judal with a plastic spoon. “We’ve never hurt you.”

“Neither has Kouen,” Judal huffs. “Is this an interrogation? I have questions of my own.” 

“Go on,” Ja’far says. Sinbad’s pout deepens. 

“His stepmom’s coming to town. En’s totally freaking out.” Judal blows out a breath, tries to make his bangs stick up to no avail. “This is like, meeting the parents but worse. I need to do something. Have you met her, Sinbad? She runs in those shitty celeb circles like you used to or whatever. I’ve seen her but I haven’t really met her, so I figured I’d ask you.”

“Oh? You need my help?” Sinbad grins, springing to attention. “So the tea, as the kids say --” 

“Stop, never mind--”

“The tea on Gyokuen,” Sinbad continues loudly, “as far as I know, is that she’s a bit of a social climber, but more like a puppet master. As a CEO or a father, Koutoku never struck me as a particularly brilliant man. But you’ve seen her around. She acts like she’s empty-headed but she’s probably pulling the strings. If the Ren family has some sort of curse, its name is Gyokuen.” 

“Huh,” Judal says, “Kouen said the same shit, pretty much.”

“He and I talk sometimes,” Sinbad admits. “Or, we used to. You know, when he was starting out. Less so now, but it’s fine.” 

Judal steals a corner of Ja’far’s naan. “So what I was thinking was a court marriage. Just go in, get out, get the cash. Simple. But I think he wants like, a wedding. Preserve the family name and all that.” 

_ And protect me, apparently, _Judal thinks, but he doesn’t know if he can say that. His cheeks burn just thinking of it.

“What do _ you _want?” Ja’far says. “You’re doing more than enough. Family name doesn’t get you through this. Action does.” 

“I just want it to work,” Judal says, “and also, he thinks the more public the whole shebang is, the less Gyokuen can interfere.” 

“If she tries anything on you, I’ll be there,” Sinbad says calmly. “But I see where Kouen’s coming from. Remember what I first taught you about the world of business?” 

“Trust nobody, except you, but only sometimes.” 

“The first part, yes,” Sinbad raises his hands in mock defeat. “The second? No. But it’s always good to be cautious. Just watch your back, and let Kouen do his thing. It’s his problem.” 

Honestly, Judal wants to agree. But something keeps nagging at him, something he doesn’t even know how to describe with how tangled his feelings are. It stays with him even as the conversation shifts to other things, and it’s when he and Ja’far are cleaning the living room that the other nudges him. “Alright?” 

“Yeah,” Judal says, “It’s just -- some things you can’t shake. Like did I do this just so he would need me? But now it’s just like I’m in the way.” 

“Doubt it,” Ja’far scoffs. “You’re the one making it possible. He should be happy to have you.” 

“He better be,” Judal says. “But at the same time, I’m just saying that there are things you can’t forget. Like we’re here _ now, _but we weren’t always here. And sometimes I feel like he’s going to see who I was and not who I am, or that I didn’t really change, or -- anyway. You know.” 

“I do,” Ja’far sits down on the couch, pats the seat next to him. Judal slumps down, sighs. When he was younger, it was Ja’far’s shoulder he would sleep on. He’s tips onto it now, for the first time in a long time, and sighs. 

“You’ll be fine,” Ja’far says gently. “I can’t guarantee it’ll work out. But I know whatever happens, you’re strong enough to make it through. And you have me and Sinbad.” 

“Yeah. It’s just -- funny.” 

“Yeah,” Ja’far says, voice a bit wistful. “Life’s funny like that.” 

Lulled by the quiet sounds of Ja’far’s murmuring, Judal closes his eyes. 


End file.
